Prep

 It's that time of year. It used to be the week or two just after the Fourth of July when my son would start noticing Back To School Savings appearing in various store windows and circulars. Now it has become the time of year when I get email reminders about online trainings I need to take before I return to the grind. 

In August. 

Not that I mind particularly, since this year we were out before Memorial Day and we are essentially graced with an additional three day weekend after the school year begins in August. Again, this is not what I mind. What I do mind are those trainings. 

The first one was about how not to get fished in by malware and online scams that could ransom the district's data and cause the downfall of public education. Bottom line? Don't open attachments from senders you do not recognize. Pretty simple stuff for the computer teacher, and just like that, I'm on to the next assignment. 

Use of pesticides in public school settings? Pretty solid common sense stuff here. Don't bring your personal bug spray from home. Keep the varmints out by sealing up holes that voles can clime through. Oh, and read the directions of products that will be used in closed quarters, keeping mind that nine year olds will lick just about any surface if allowed. Passed that quiz pretty easily.

But this last one, about mandatory reporting? It doesn't matter how many times I push myself through the details of the state regulations regarding child abuse, neglect and grooming, it continues to ring in my head for days afterward. The matter-of-fact tone that existed in the email lectures and the poison precautions are switched out for a much more dire warning: If you don't report, you're as guilty as the perp. No excuses. This image of frightened and confused teachers and administrators depicted in the role-plays found in the videos are not familiar to me, but I am assured by the voice of authority narrating the lessons that the problem is that "we" are not doing our job like we should. 

So I wade through the material. I listen patiently as the worst-case scenarios are laid out. Then I answer the sixteen multiple choice questions in with that same worst-case mindset. And hooray, I passed. Left with that bad taste, counting down the days until I am back in the classroom, anxiously awaiting a chance to do my part. That ugly, and according to statistics, inevitable chance. 

I'd rather be shopping at Target for binders, thank you.